


The Birth of Nyssa al Gul

by Soupy950



Series: Nyssara [6]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, F/F, Family History, Lazarus Pit, League of Assassins Sara Lance, Lian Yu Island (Arrow TV 2012), Minor Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance, Nanda Parbat, Nyssa Centric, Nyssara, Pre-Relationship, The League of Assassins (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupy950/pseuds/Soupy950
Summary: "Do you know who I am child?”Nyssa’s eyes found the gold chain around his neck that secured a demonic head just below his heart. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed, “Father.”Ra's rounded closer, took Nyssa’s chin in his left hand and wiped her tears with his right.After a moment of silence, where his eyes pierced hers, he spoke definitively, “You are my blood. I am all you need."
Relationships: Nyssa al Ghul & Ra's al Ghul, Nyssa al Ghul & Sara Lance, Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance
Series: Nyssara [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1123860
Kudos: 26





	The Birth of Nyssa al Gul

Nyssa was scared.

The day had started like any other for the six-year-old. She had woken with the dawn and quickly set to work on her duties around the small village she was raised in. It was tedious but methodical and she relished in the feeling of accomplishment when the chores were completed.

Night gathered, and Nyssa retired to the tent she shared with her mother. As she entered, there was no evidence of her mother returning from her duties, but she paid it no mind. It was quite common that she would go days without seeing her mother, so she succumbed to the drowsiness that overcame her.

She woke hours later to the sensation of a wet, pungent cloth pressed against her nose. She tried weakly to fight off the adult arms that pinned her, until the darkness beckoned her.

Nyssa was scared.

She woke once more on top of the softest bed she had ever rested on.

She was laying on a vast bed covered by a blanket made from the softest material she had ever felt – it was red and moulded around her small body. Each corner of the bed had a beam leading upwards and was covered in semi-transparent, shimmering fabric.

Above her were two lanterns and she could see multiple candles placed around the sparse room that provided light.

Panic set in and she gripped the bedding tightly when she spotted a figure partially hidden in the corner of the room. Despite the candles, it was still dark, and she could only tell that the figure wore a long cloak that stretched towards the ground.

“Calm child.” The words were spoken firmly in a smooth voice that did nothing to ease her racing heart.

The figure walked into the light. It was a man, she found. He was tall, broad shouldered and his stride displayed complete confidence. His head and face were covered by dark hair that seemed almost black in the dim lighting.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and his dark eyes pierced her soul, “Do you know who I am child?”

Nyssa’s eyes found the gold chain around his neck that secured a demonic head just below his heart. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed, “Father.”

The left corner of Ra’s lips curled, “I see Amina stayed true to her word.”

At the mention of her mother, Nyssa perked up, “Where is mother?”

“Gone from this world and at peace,” he replied stoically.

Nyssa froze, and hot tears poured from her eyes down her cheeks, “No! You’re lying, tell me the truth!”

Ra's rounded closer and ignored Nyssa’s attempt to climb further up the bed. When he was near, her took Nyssa’s chin in his left hand and wiped her tears with his right.

After a moment of silence, where his eyes pierced hers, he spoke definitively, “You are my blood. I am all you need.”

\---

“Again!”

Seven-year-old Nyssa gritted her teeth. The scimitar in her hand felt heavy like lead after three hours of training.

Athena had been assigned to her League upbringing ever since she had been taken in by her father nearly one year ago. Athena was one of her father’s Horsemen, the only female in League history to be of such status. Usually her father’s Horsemen never operated out of Nanda Parbat. But, Nyssa, as Blood of the Demon was a special case.

Athena oversaw her training and nutrition, and her education which included world studies, business and languages. Once her training was completed for the day, Nyssa would spend the remainder of the daylight hours learning medicine and healing from a tutor approved by Ra’s.

After nightfall, she would spend time with her father in his study. There, he would teach her the secrets of the League. Secrets no-one outside himself were privy to, ones that had the power to destroy with a simple slip of the tongue. He would impose on her the standards and expectations that came with the status of being Blood of the Demon. Would remind her that under no circumstances would he accept mediocracy or failure.

“Again!”

Nyssa steadied herself and corrected her stance. With quick efficient movements, she swung her blade at the training dummy in front of her and each blow tore away the flimsy material it was made from.

She continued for what felt like hours in her young mind but was only just twenty minutes. Then, finally, Athena called her to a halt.

“Passable,” Athena said and stared down her nose at Nyssa who calmed her deep breaths caused by the exercise.

Athena removed the scimitar from Nyssa’s possession, “As a member of this organisation, especially as Blood of the Demon, it is your duty to carry out the will of Ra’s al Ghul. You are expected to be ruthless as is what is required to cleanse this world.”

The first time she bore witness to the League’s mission was just three months after she had arrived at the compound. She had been called into the sanctum where the large Lazarus pit was housed. Her father ordered her to stand off to the side of him, in front of Athena and the prisoner was brought in.

She had never learnt his name or his crime. Never heard his voice as his tongue had been viciously cut out. All she knew was that he had been a prisoner of the League’s for just one week before spilling his secrets in a misguided attempt to place the blame on his associates.

She learned that night, what true fear felt like.

Her father, in full Demon regalia had soothed the prisoner’s worries with slick words designed to disarm and ease all worries. She would even say he seemed compassionate. The prisoner’s panicked breaths had calmed, and his demeanour turned compliant.

That was until her father signalled to a high-ranking member to bring forth his ceremonial sword. As the panic rose again in the prisoner who had begun to fight against his restraints in earnest, her father had plunged the blade into his chest.

It wasn’t an instant kill wound, but he was left to agonisingly bleed out onto the cold floor.

Growing up the way she had, she was no stranger to death. Her home village was so often riddled with disease and ailments, it was a miracle that she had made it to the age she had.

But there was something different about seeing a man, criminal or not, bleed to a slow death in front of her. She had tried to turn her head away once, but Athena had roughly pushed her to face forward again.

Her father removed his blade and with the momentum, the prisoner had fallen forward onto his side. His eyes whilst not on her directly, stared in her direction and bit by bit, she watched the life fade out from them until he breathed no more.

For nights afterward, his dead corpse laying in a pool of blood haunted her dreams.

It pained her to think that’s the type of person she was expected to become. Had already started to become.

“Soon, Nyssa, you will be tasked to complete the Demon’s will and you will not fail,” Athena emphasised.

Nyssa nodded firmly as she knew to not ever openly disagree with the Horseman. “I won’t.”

Athena nodded, “Good. Why is that?”

Nyssa responded automatically, robotically, “Because I am the Will of the Demon.”

\---

Pets were rare in Nyssa’s village, as what little ones they came across, like the humans, were underfed and riddled with disease.

When her father had brought her to the League, he had gifted her with a puppy of an unknown breed that she had named Amal.

Her father and Athena had said it will teach her discipline and leadership. If she could not get a mere pup to follow her orders, then she was not Heir material.

Amal was her responsibility and she raised him from being a sleepy days old pup to the energetic fourteen-month-old his was now.

“Amal, come.” Nyssa ordered and left her quarters.

He rose from his bed in the corner of her room and ran between her legs into the candle lit corridor.

Together, the pair made their way through the winding corridors of Nanda Parbat to her father’s study. It was just after nine o’clock and Nyssa was due for her daily tutelage with her father.

She dreaded what her next lesson would be as they had become increasingly more taxing ever since Talia, her older half-sister had fled the League and her responsibilities four weeks earlier.

Her father had always been a terrifyingly calm man. He led the League with a cold, iron fist but he never raised his voice or acted out in rage. But that had changed.

For days afterward, he duelled with any member he came across and left each with fatal wounds until his bloodlust was sated.

It was a harrowing time for everyone in the League, but she felt the brunt of it. She was now the prospective Heir of the Demon and each lesson with both her father and Athena was longer, harder and more excruciating.

Finally, she arrived at her destination to see her father standing outside the door rather than sitting at his desk inside.

Without prompt, she tipped her head in respect.

Amal, ever eager for attention jumped to put his paws on her father’s legs and panted happily.

Almost automatically, he reached down and scratched the puppy’s ears. It was the only time Nyssa saw her father ever let his guard down.

Amal received more affectionate attention from him that she even did. She felt guilty immediately for thinking that. She was lucky that he didn’t kill Amal the first time he jumped at her father.

The two (and Amal) walked through the wide halls of Nanda Parbat until they reached outdoors and continued their walk across the dry plains that surrounded them endlessly.

“Athena informs me that you’re ready for one of your final tasks your ascension,” her father intoned into the night.

Nyssa crossed her hands behind her back, something she saw him do often and agreed, “Yes father. I am ready.”

He didn’t respond and the continued to walk until they reached a structure of ruins of lost origins and purpose at the top of one the many surrounding hills.

He stopped, hands behind his back and stared out into the darkness. “We’re standing in the exact spot that I, myself was named Heir of the Demon. It was a proud moment as every drop of sweat and blood I had left in the walls of our home led me to that title.”

Nyssa listened silently.

He turned towards her, “There are two final lessons you will need to complete. Every Heir in the history of this League has been tasked them and you will not be first to fail, child.”

She nodded.

Her father reached into his robes and removed a ceremonial dagger and held it to her in his outstretched palm. The blade was half the length of her forearm.

Nyssa stepped forward, removed it from his possession and waited.

“The first of three trials,” he reached down to Amal who had sat between his legs and raised him to face her eyes, “Love is weakness. Weakness is not accepted.”

\---

Dressed in her ceremonial robes, Nyssa stood at the balcony in her father’s study which overlooked the vast desert that surrounded Nanda Parbat. With her hands clasped together behind her, the eight-year-old girl stared into the endless night with tight shoulders.

Below her, at the front of the compound, the entirety of the League of Assassins was assembled in neat rows that spread far into the night. Even Ra’s Horsemen, so rarely seen near Nanda Parbat were in attendance, although she couldn’t see them from her post. It was the largest gathering of League members since Ra’s had become Head of the Demon centuries ago.

She gathered deep breaths with closed eyes and opened them after the third. This moment would be the start of a new chapter in her young life. She was Nyssa, Blood of the Demon, but, by the end of all this, she would be known as Nyssa al Ghul – Heir to the Demon.

She felt and heard movement behind her in the doorway.

“It is time,” Athena announced firmly.

Nyssa tossed the sea of black one more look, raised her silky red cowl to cover from her nose down to her chin and walked past Athena out of the room.

“This is a great honour,” Athena stated as she followed behind Nyssa, down to the ground level of the compound. “Throughout League history, many Heirs have been killed before they had the pleasure of reaching this moment. Do not treat this opportunity lightly.”

“I know. I am ready,” Nyssa replied as she reached the door-less archway that led into the night and stopped.

Athena motioned outwards, “Prove it.”

Nyssa pulled her hood up and walked out into the open and down the aisle created by the League members.

Finally, after ten minutes of walking, she reached the same ruins where she plunged a dagger into her beloved Amal and stopped at the bottom of the incline. Even more League members created a three-layer deep circle that surrounded and eventually boxed her in. Multiple fire pits lit the area.

At the top of the incline, she saw her father stood behind three people who were clearly prisoners. They were on their knees, hands chained individually to a platform installed there for this very event. Two of the three struggled violently against their restraints and muffled screams could be heard through the sacks over their heads.

After he indicated, Nyssa calmly walked forward.

Basirah, who handled official League proceedings had been stood off to the left but moved to stand in front of her. “Who comes before us?” she said with gravitas.

Nyssa spoke loudly and clearly, “Nyssa, Blood of the Demon and I wish to claim my birth right.”

Basirah stared deep into the eight-year-old’s eyes, “And do you, Nyssa, Blood of the Demon accept all duty associated with becoming Heir of the Demon?”

Nyssa nodded, “I do.”

“And are you, Nyssa, Blood of the Demon, willing to undertake your second trial on your path to ascension?”

“I am.”

Basirah held her arms out to her sides, “Then now is the time, Nyssa, Blood of the Demon, to be judged.”

Scimitar in hand, Nyssa stepped closer to the prisoners.

“Nyssa, child of my blood. Before you are three prisoners. Each will die by your hand this night.” Her father spoke with his usual cool demeanour.

The prisoners heard his exclamation and their attempts to escape became more violent.

Nyssa stared at each prisoner. To the League members, she hoped that she looked contemplative because inside she panicked.

She knew, even at her young age, especially as Blood of the Demon, that she would have to eventually perform such a permanent action.

With Athena, as a part of the training, she had killed small animals and slowly built up to large game which was then cooked for food. And of course, she couldn’t forget the day she ended the life of her beloved Amal.

But these prisoners would be her first human kills. Her first victims that plead with her to spare their lives.

She subtly swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise.

But the League and her father expected greatness and she was scared to think of the consequences should she fail.

Nyssa drew her trusted scimitar from the holster around her waist.

_I am Nyssa, Blood of the Demon and soon to be Heir._

She repeated the phrase over and over in her head, as she removed the bag from each of the prisoner’s heads to reveal two men and one woman.

All three were dark haired and dark eyed and had their tongues removed.

_I am Nyssa, Blood of the Demon and soon to be Heir._

She raised her scimitar and swung it down on the two chains that held the first male prisoner to the platform.

Like a bolt of lightning, he rose and fled away sloppily, but the circle of assassins pushed him back into the centre each time he tried to frantically breach them.

Whilst he tried to escape, Nyssa moved to a chest of weapons that had been placed off to the side. She reached in, withdrew a short sword and flung it towards the escaper.

His reluctance to wield it was clear but after seeing there was no other option, he picked it up from the sand and braced.

Clearly, he was untrained, Nyssa concluded. His hold on the sword was weak and his stance sloppy.

Quick as a flash, she easily disarmed him, and he fell pitifully into the sand with wide, frightened eyes.

She stepped away and indicated to pick the blade up again.

The sequence continued three more times and each time she easily stripped him of the weapon.

He was disarmed a fourth time and didn’t try to lift himself from the ground. Nyssa stood over him, not breathing any heavier than normal, and pressed the tip of her scimitar lightly into the skin of his neck.

She stared into his defeated eyes and looked once at the tears that ran in streams from them. Looked at the blood that poured from his nose and stained his filthy and torn shirt. Looked at the numerous other visible wounds that prevented him from getting up and she felt pity.

_I am sorry. You seem like a petty criminal. You don’t deserve an end as cruel as this._

She plunged her blade clean through his throat and watched the life fade from his eyes.

Behind her, she heard muffled cries of fear from the female prisoner, who if Nyssa went logically was her next fight.

With the stench of blood strong in her nose, she extracted her scimitar from the corpse and repeated the process of removing the chains from the female.

Unlike the first, she didn’t make a leap for freedom. Instead, she remained on her knees and clasped her hands in her prayer.

Respectful to a degree, Nyssa waited until she was finished and motioned to the sword near the fallen corpse.

The woman was clearly reluctant but made slow, sure movements to the weapon and never took her eyes off Nyssa.

When the blade was wielded, Nyssa waited for the woman to make her move. Opposite to the man, it was obvious that this woman had received some measure of formal training.

The two circled each other for three rotations before the prisoner made a large motion to strike. It was clumsy and telegraphed which made it easy for Nyssa to dodge it and the uncoordinated strikes that came in quick succession afterwards.

At the two-minute mark, Nyssa began to feel guilty as she found herself enjoying the adrenaline that flowed through her. Though this woman was more experienced than the average human, she was no Athena or Al-Owal and Nyssa found herself enjoying having the advantage for once.

Athena had drilled into her that while being the aggressor was good, knowing when to dodge and even evade all together was just as important. Whatever was needed to see the next day.

Nyssa took those words to heart and used every flashy method of dodging her young body could achieve. Being smaller was beneficial as it allowed her to move quicker.

At the five-minute mark, she decided that it had gone on too long. There was a fine balance between showcasing her skills and the League thinking she was stalling.

When the woman stepped away to try and recover her breath, Nyssa went on the offensive for the first time. With clean, precise motions, Nyssa stepped forward quickly and struck the woman’s sword hand.

She dropped it into the sand with a pained muffle and clutched her hand to her chest. With no further hesitation, Nyssa swung the legs from under her and stabbed her clean through the heart.

Nyssa stalked towards the final prisoner, a hulk of man, with tight shoulders. She stood over him and looked into his dark, defiant eyes.

Throughout the entirety of the two fights, he had not screamed, begged or cried out. He knelt solidly and didn’t attempt to break free of his binds. Up close, she could see the fight in his expression, his clenched fists and the pulsing veins in his thick neck.

This one would be challenging, she thought. The first two were clearly below par but she imagined that this man would fight long and hard to destroy her. The sure fact that he wouldn’t escape should he succeed didn’t matter to him. He was just after her blood.

He grinned and revealed his rotting teeth and mutilated tongue to her and that prompted her to swing true at his chains.

Using her brain, she backed away from him without turning her back until she was just meters away from the ring of assassins at the other end of the circle.

Slowly he pushed off his right foot and rose to his full height. With measured steps he walked to the sword next to the dead woman, picked it up and kicked the body away from him viciously.

His shirt, torn and worn moved with the breeze generated from him swinging the sword in complex sequences. The blade was clearly too small for him, but his hulking frame and power would surely make up the lack of reach.

Nyssa gathered herself, more determined than ever to prove herself and stalked closer. Though tall for her age, Nyssa was still just a child and the prisoner, a fully grown adult loomed over her.

They circled each other for what seemed like minutes, neither willing to make the first move. It afforded Nyssa some time to analyse him; though large and powerful, his steps were slow. Her smaller frame would make her quicker and that’s what she’d need to rely on.

He raised the sword high and swung down swiftly. Nyssa danced away adeptly as his strike whistled through the air. He repeated the process and chased her around until he visibly grew frustrated.

In a series of measured steps, Nyssa twirled around him and drew blood against both legs multiple times. It took all her skills of evasion to weave in out between his strikes as he grew more and more annoyed by her.

Eventually his frustration grew to new heights and instead of using the blade, he kneed her hard in the stomach.

Winded, she quickly backed away and gathered her breath. She held her free hand to her stomach and tried to overcome the heaving her body wanted to do.

Never taking her eyes off him, she noticed that he limped away from the numerous cuts she had given his legs.

She watched as he grabbed the nearest assassin in his meaty hands and forcibly removed the scimitar from his waist. The assassin whose moniker she did not know, motioned to reclaim his blade but a raised hand from her father stopped him.

Now wielding two blades, he seemed to grow in confidence. He struck both into the stand and used his free hands to remove the scraps of his shirt. Bare, she could see various amounts of scars covering his chest and abdominals.

Nyssa breathed deeply and mentally prepared herself. She had spared endlessly under such a disadvantage before with both Athena and occasionally Al-Owal. She had studiously watched her father as he took on five or more League members at a time.

The prisoner returned to the weapons and started swinging them experimentally. That was his first mistake she thought. Often at times, dual wielding wasn’t effective unless done by someone who had mastered it.

His second mistake she realised, was that his stolen blade was nowhere near the same type or weight. He kept switching them both around, trying to figure out which hand he could hold it in better.

If anything, his attempt to gain the upper hand had hindered him.

With renewed determination, Nyssa stalked closer once more, her lone scimitar grasped in her right hand.

They clashed again; the speed of each strike somehow enhanced despite their tired states. Nyssa spun, ducked and weaved her way around his weaker hand strikes and parried his dominant hand blows.

He clearly hadn’t ever dual wielded before and she easily moved to keep his weak arm at bay. He took an ill-timed pause to readjust his weak hand grip and she used that moment to strike against the exposed hilt, catching his wrist at the same time, and he dropped it into the sand with a muffled cry of pain.

Out of desperation, he kicked her again in the stomach and swung his fist into the side of her head. She landed on the ground seeing stars.

She heard him roar and the sound of metal thump against the ground.

His large frame came into her view and her insides rolled as he gripped her neck and lifted her up.

She hung in air with her left hand around his at her neck. His grip while tight enough to restrict her airways wasn’t crushing.

In the distance, her father impassive as always with hands clasped together behind his back, looked on. Their eyes locked and she could read his thoughts as though he spoke them aloud to her.

_Do not disappoint. Do not be so weak._

To his side, she could see Athena standing stock still, emotions removed from her face apart from the brief flicker of concern that flashed in her eyes. Whilst her relationship with Athena didn’t go beyond teacher and student, Nyssa was the first Heir Athena had been tasked to train in all her extensive years of being by her father’s side and some form of tenderness (as tender as a Horseman could be) had been shown to her.

(Talia had been mentored personally by her father and she believed that was one of the reasons he had taken her desertion so poorly).

She turned her attention back to the prisoner. He had been mumbling at her, speaking as if his tongue hadn’t been cut from him. He had relaxed his stance since he held her, and she used it to her advantage.

Swiftly, she dug her nails deep into his hand and wrapped her legs around his neck when he released her. She firmly pressed her thumbs into his eyes until she felt the squishiness of his eyeballs give way under the pressure.

She launched herself away when she felt him start to stagger and landed on one knee in the sand. Nyssa reclaimed her dropped scimitar and walked breathing heavily towards the prisoner.

He was once again on his knees, rocking in agony, hands over his bleeding eyes, and unaware of anything other than his pain.

She didn’t hesitate to stab him though the heart with all her weight until he fell back into the sand, bending back over his calves and feet. After he breathed for the last time, she climbed onto his chest and wiggled her blade free.

Breathing heavily, bleeding, ears roaring, she looked to her father. He nodded, and one by one each assassin, starting with the Horseman bowed at their waist to her.

\---

Adrenaline rushed through her entire body as Nyssa followed her father and Basirah into the main chamber. The rest of the League had returned to their duties in and outside Nanda Parbat.

The room as usual was vast, bereft of furniture other than the large fire pits, lanterns and candles that were dotted against the walls.

The fabled Lazarus Pit lay dormant on the raised dais towards at the back of the room and Nyssa stared in apprehension.

Nyssa stopped in the middle of the room, her bloody scimitar had returned to her scabbard and placed her left hand on the hilt.

Her father continued to further into the room and stopped facing the Pit, tall and with his hands as ever clasped behind his back. Basirah continued deeper to stand behind her father at the side of the Pit.

“Tell me, child of my blood, did your performance meet the expectations of an Heir to this noble cause?” He asked, voice calm and husky.

Nyssa swallowed. She had successfully killed the three prisoners required. She had felt pity for the first two and she had ended them as humanely as possible while still adhering to the League’s mandate for merciless.

She could admit that the third had challenged her. He wasn’t overwhelmingly skilled but his size had put her at a severe disadvantage. He had landed multiple hits on her, ones that had started to smart under her robes.

“No father. There is always room for improvement,” she admitted.

“Indeed,” he agreed as he turned to look her unflinchingly in the eyes.

“Come,” he intoned and clasped his hands in front of him.

Nyssa swiftly walked forward and up the dais stairs until she stood in front of the Pit.

“As per our honoured traditions, each Heir to be must undertake three trials before ascension to the title is complete,” Basirah stated. “The first: a mental test to measure their commitment to our beliefs. The second: a physical test where they must overcome all obstacles to prove themselves to the League they aim to lead.”

Basirah come forth, removed the outer robe from Nyssa’s shoulders and her weapons. “Finally, they will undergo judgment by the Lazarus Pit, and if found worthy, they will be blessed with a gift from its power.”

Her father gestured towards the Pit and without hesitation, she climbed in and submerged herself fully clothed. From the moment her foot entered, the fabled healing water rippled violently and glowed a deep blue from the centre outwards.

This was the first time she had been granted permission to use the Lazarus Pit. It felt as though her skin had been peeled off and regenerated. The open wounds under her robes stung and she winced at the feeling of the skin knitting together.

The bubbling liquid filled every pore on her petite frame, and she opened her mouth to ingest some. It had no distinct flavour and reminded her of the sparkling spring water that Athena and her father preferred.

Soon, she felt invigorated, alive and aware like she had never felt. Her skin tingled, her ears hummed with new sounds, her vision cleared and sharpened. It was addictive and Nyssa could finally understand why the League coveted the Pit so much.

As history told it, the Lazarus Pit had the ability to rid mankind of all ailments and revitalise the body to peak performance. And in some instances, as she was experiencing herself, enhance it past that point.

These wonders, however, were never to be publicised.

After all, the League’s primary objective was to facilitate the progression of mankind. Such progress demands sacrifice. And how can mankind ever evolve without enduring?

Eventually, the bubbling of the Pit dwindled to a gentle simmer and then stopped all together.

Nyssa rose from the water, noted that it was now dawn and that she had been submerged for at least two hours. She felt disorientated as her incredibly sensitive eyes and ears caused a wave of dizziness to overcome her.

The last thing she acknowledged before the darkness claimed her, was the feeling of being lifted and the familiar scent of her father.

\---

The healing quarters was located at the very base of the League compound and was built on the only hot water spring in hundreds of kilometres. As such, a large portion of the middle of the room was taken up by a large pool of the water protruding from the ground. The steaming liquid, used as an aid to treat sore muscles, produced waves of rising steam that rose and expanded along the room. If stood in it, the pool was deep enough to reach the chest of an average sized man.

The room was gently lit by small fire pits and scentless candles that were scattered around. This, combined with its location produced a calming atmosphere that had quickly become one of Nyssa’s favourite places when she had first arrived at the League.

In her youth, she had spent many months learning the art of healing and restoration from the senior healer who went by Iesha.

Iesha was a small and stout woman whose age was unknown, but Nyssa figured that she had to be well into her sixties by now. Her sun kissed skin was covered with wrinkles that spoke of decades of life but she was still surprisingly spry and the youthful glow in her eyes was clear.

Nyssa inhaled the familiar scent of the healing herbs used to treat injuries. It was thick and cloying but welcoming and worked to sooth the concerns she had.

Iesha hummed gently as she replaced a bowl of red tinted water with a fresh lot from the spring. She moved over to the sole occupied bed and gave the bowl to Nyssa to hold. She placed small drops of oils and sprigs of herbs into the water from her station nearby and dunked a clean cloth into the mixture.

The body on the bed was a female of shorter than average height. She was unconscious and faced down into the mattress. Her blonde hair had already been cleaned from the blood, dirt and sweat that covered the rest of her body and was tied out of the way.

She was dressed only torn pants as the scraps of her shirt had been removed. Her bare back was covered in dirt, spots of blood and scars were littered all over the pale skin.

Under Iesha’s care, she had stabilised well, but time would yet tell whether she would survive the night.

Nyssa watched as Iesha rung the cloth of excess water and pressed it firmly to her patient. With each pass, dirt and blood was removed from the unconscious blonde woman before her.

The woman’s body rose and deflated with each harsh and stuttering breath she took. She wasn’t in the clear yet, but she was a far cry from the state she was in when she was given to Iesha.

Her father had sent her and her team to the cursed island Lian Yu in the North China Sea after receiving reports of unusual activity. The island was known to be one of the ‘deserted’: a collection of islands around the world that was to be avoided due to their somewhat mystical nature.

They had arrived on a yacht just as an explosion had rocked a large piece of debris carrying a lone body drifting towards them.

Nyssa didn’t know what drove her to recover the woman and bring her into Nanda Parbat, but she did and so here they were.

She was interrupted by Iesha, “This one is a fighter,” she declared softly. Whilst she never spoke above a whisper, her voice always contained gravitas.

Nyssa exhaled, “We shall see. Only time will tell.”

Iesha made a noise of disagreement and shook her left index finger at the Heir, “No, my dear Heir. Look at her fighting her injuries. This one will be a worthy challenge for you.”

Nyssa titled her head in acknowledgement, “Indeed.”

Not even thirty minutes before, both women had been graced by Ra’s presence as he had informed Nyssa that this woman of unknown origins would be her student once she was well enough to commit.

In over a decade of being Heir, she had never been assigned a student. This, combined with his insistence that she visit the cursed island in the first place, had her questioning whether more was at play.

Her father hadn’t looked remotely concerned or surprised as she and her team transported the blonde woman through the compound when they returned. He had simply looked searchingly into her eyes and over the unconscious woman before directing them to the healing quarters.

Whilst she had been gifted with heightened abilities from the Pit on her ascension, she had speculated that her father had been given the Sight.

Nyssa had long since understood that Ra’s would reveal his plans when it suited him.

Her gaze returned sharply to the blonde woman as she fought valiantly against the fever that overtook her.

Regardless, for now, this mystery woman had become her responsibility and she would not fail.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my take on Nyssa's journey to becoming of Heir to the Demon. I find the whole League aspect of the Arrowverse fascinating and wish we could have explored this further (disregarding the mess that was season 3 of Arrow).
> 
> Regarding Ra's and his games, you can either take his knowledge of Lian Yu and Sara as canon Legends of Tomorrow where Sara rejoins the League and tells Ra's to send Nyssa to the island. Or I can invision Ra's being an omnipresent being who knows all as per Nyssa's speculation of him having 'The Sight.'


End file.
